


Miscellany

by owain (watchfob)



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Canon Compliant, Crossover, Family, Infidelity, Multi, Psychological Drama, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchfob/pseuds/owain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short fics done during Flash Fiction Month, all under 1000 words each. </p><p>16.<br/>Lucina had hoped she'd one day see her mother again, but not like this. Gods, not like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mothballs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1.  
> Chrom doesn't know who he's trying to fool, because it certainly isn't Robin.

He stares out at the highway from his seat on the hood of his car and sighs. 

Robin gives him a sidelong glance but says nothing. He takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket - hesitates - and then tosses it into the grass beside the road.

Robin tsks, a sharp sound that cuts through the muggy air like a knife. 

"Littering, Chrom?" she says with exaggerated disapproval. She slides off the hood gracefully and walks over to pick the pack up.

"I'm quitting," he says, shoving his arms roughly together. He read somewhere crossing your arms made you look cool. He doesn't feel very cool, sweating in his dusty leather jacket.

"You could've at least given them to me."

She pockets the cigarettes with a smile he fights not to return.

"You don't smoke," he says.

"Neither do you."

She takes a seat on the ground instead of returning to her spot on the hood. He wants to slide down next to her.

"That doesn't mean I cant find a use for them," she says easily. 

Sweat trickles down the back of Chrom's neck. He is very warm.

The first car they've seen in a while comes driving down the highway. The light of the setting sun glints off of the top of it. They squint as they watch it come closer.

"We should probably start heading back," Chrom says, and quietly curses. 

"Yeah," Robin agrees.

The sky fades from pink to purple to deep blue while they drive. 

When he drops her off at her house, she doesn't look back to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the end, she throws them away.


	2. out of the park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2.  
> three strikes, you're--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge for this piece:  
> Element ONE: Your story must consist of three sentences.  
> Element TWO: Your story must feature something usually found in threes.  
> Element THREE: Post a three word summary of your story.

The first strike against him came when he stumbled into her apartment, dripping wet from the raging storm outside, and held out a limp bouquet of what she assumed were flowers but looked somewhat more like waterlogged weeds.

The second was the result of a poorly executed poem he attempted to recite; he began earnestly about the loveliness of her features but got lost along the way, somehow managing to ramble into a strange tale of heroes and monsters that had very little to do with either of them.

The third came at the cost of a ruined couch, soaked through from his clothes when she threw him there with a strength that surprised them both, and kissed him passionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the best noiowa is the kind that manages to succeed while simultaneously failing spectacularly.


	3. blood and water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3.  
> Robin muses about hair. Aversa doesn't.

"Have you ever wondered about your hair?" he murmurs, taking a silver strand in his fingers and letting it fall. His touch is gentle and his voice low, but his eyes are as hard as they always are, flinty and cold and unforgiving. 

It suits him, she thinks. 

"No," she answers. Perhaps she has. It doesn't matter, in the end. 

"It's like mine," he says, raising a hand to touch his own. Her eyes flick upward.

He's right.

"Now what could that mean?"

She knows he isn't looking for an answer. She gives one anyway.

"Nothing," she says.

He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's difficult to determine, sometimes.


	4. heel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4.  
> The village boys are up to no good again. Severa won't stand for it. Neither will Lucina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here begins the song of ice and fire au ficlets

The princeling's pup, they called her. Her father was the lord's dog, her mother a name she wasn't allowed to say, and her: the princeling's pup. It was as much a slight to her as it was to her assigned companion; the princess Lucina was tall for her age, gangly, and not given to the traditional feminine routines to which princesses ought to adhere, but she was not a boy by any means.

She'd grown used to insults, by the age of seven. They rolled off her shoulders with the ease of the midday breeze, and if she shed a tear or two at night in bed, fists clenching her sheets in frustration, well, that was nothing to talk about. The village boys had made the mistake of including the princess in their jeers, however, and while she hadn't yet had the privilege of swinging a real blade, the wooden sword at her side could inflict powerful bruises if she so had the thought. 

She did, and much more, but the latter was neither here nor there. 

"Severa, wait--"

Her hand curled around the hilt of the toy and hefted it, mustering her most impressive glare. The boys sniggered.

"Look, she's coming this way."

"I'm sure her bark is worse than her bite."

"Oi!" she shouted. "Quit it! You've no right to be making japes about milady!"

One of the boys frowned.

"Maybe we need to get a muzzle," he muttered darkly, shifting his weight in preparation for her attack. His friend mimicked him, a smile on his face, ready for the promised brawl.

"Severa!"

She only stopped when she felt a hand on her shoulder, pressure enough to draw attention but no more. 

"Down girl," one of the boys growled, and laughed. 

"Enough of this." Lucina spoke sharply. She was only a year older than Severa but already had a commanding presence. She looked the boys over with a frown before continuing. "You -- I know you. Your mothers work in the kitchens."

The boys hesitated, losing confidence. Perhaps picking fights was not worth the sport, after all. 

"I'll see to it they know just what their sons have been up to while they were hard at work."

One grimaced, the other paled. 

"We got no quarrel with you, milady," the braver one muttered, easing back into a normal stance.

"You have when you slight my friends," Lucina responded firmly.

"We wasn't gonna do nothing anyway," he said grudgingly, taking his friends arm. "Come on, let's go. We got no business here."

Severa's hand did not loosen from her weapon even after the boys had gone. Lucina looked at her and smiled, and she was embarrassed. She didn't like it. She was doing her duty, wasn't she? Why did she feel like she'd made a fool of herself?

"Come on," the princess said, taking her hand. "Let's go back to the castle. I've got something I want to show you anyway."

Severa let herself be led as she brooded. The princeling's pup. 

Maybe that's really all she was.


	5. leash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5.  
> The eve of princess Lucina's marriage is one of joy and celebration for all. Especially for Severa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as before, a song of ice and fire emblem-verse

The stays on her dress bite into her skin uncomfortably, and she wonders how she is going to get through the evening.

The princess Lucina, some hours before, had been given in marriage to a certain Ser Yarne of the Taguel race, the son of the warrior-queen Panne of the south. He is handsome, strong, brave--

Her shoes pinch her toes and it makes her hiss. She wishes she were wearing her boots. She appreciates finery and fashion as much as the next girl, but she would much rather be gliding across the floor in supple leathers, silent, instead of stiffly click-clacking about the edges. She puts her hand to her hip and feels the outline of her hidden blade. It is a small comfort.

Severa is not, surprisingly, at the princess's side. It is a small wonder, but understandable, when viewed the right way. She is still a knight, despite her skirts, still a guard. She is looking out for any suspicious persons, intently scanning the hall for those who might take advantage of the festivities to--

She bites back a curse as a bone from her corset stabs at her side. What an awful garment. When had her measurements last been taken? Surely the ones for this dress weren't correct. 

But no matter.

She espies the young prince Owain, cousin to the princess, taking air on the balcony. The hall is hot, stuffed with nobles giddy with wine, and suddenly the cool night air is as enticing to her as freedom from her current outfit. 

The difference between inside and out is some degrees. She breaths in the fresh air and feels herself relax, a little. Owain notes her presence and gives her a nod, attempting a smile, but not quite succeeding. His eyes seem very far away.

"How are you holding up?" he asks quietly, in a manner very much unlike himself. Ser Owain was given to grandiose speech, gesticulation and proclamation. She scarcely knows the man before her now. 

"That's an odd question," Severa returns, standing beside him. She had often thought him a fool, but he was a good man. And tolerable, when he kept his mouth shut, in small doses. 

He arches a brow at her.

"Is it?"

She adjusts her collar.

"I don't know what you could be speaking of," she says. The temperature difference is getting to her now. The wind nips at her. She shivers and crosses her arms.

He looks at her oddly.

"I take it you are happy, then?"

"What?"

"That Lucina is now married. Are you happy."

His eyes are faintly accusing and she does not like it. 

"Of course I am," she insists. Her feet throb. She'd like to take her shoes off but that's no good. "Lucina is my dearest friend. That she should be married, and happily so, to-- to such a noble man--"

She stops when she sees his face, pinched in confusion, and feels her face heat up. He should have laughed, she thinks; that would have been better. 

"Do you take me for a fool, Severa?" he asks, and she bites her tongue. Yes, she wishes to respond. No, she reluctantly admits. 

She does not say anything.

"You and Lucina have been together since childhood and say what you will about me, I know the look of love when I see it."

She lets out a breath. He takes a step forward. 

"I know. And I've felt it, what you do, or what you should at any rate." He clenches his hands into fists and suddenly he is hard, angry, so different from the boy she'd known all her life. When had he grown up?

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, but her throat is tight and she's finding it hard to breathe. Curse this corset. Curse these heels.

"Of course you don't."

"Idiot," she snarls, suddenly angry. "Fool. Don't you know a dog has no will aside that of its master?" She ignores the tightness in her chest, the way her throat seems to close at the thought of Lucina, Lucina with her hands entwined in the taguel's, the man who is more likely to leap in fright at the sight of a bug than lead an army into battle.

"You're no dog, Severa," he says sadly, and she is furious. She hunts, she kills -- the nip of her knife across the necks of the unfortunate are the canines of an attack dog tearing through the jugular. She could rip him apart. She could rip them all apart, if she were so commanded.

If she is no dog, then what is she? What does that make her?

"Enjoy the feast," she says coldly, turning her back on him in one swift movement. She walks back into the hall and makes her way straight to the new couple.

Severa gives them her biggest smile and it is genuine, so help her gods. She wishes them joy. Lucina's answering smile, watery and weak, is one of ill-contained happiness. Severa bows to her new prince and kisses her princess's hand, but at the last moment Lucina catches her fingers and squeezes them. It is an affectionate gesture, one of friendship.

It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge: unreliable narrator. success: dubious


	6. say good night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6.  
> Noire, Owain, and the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge: a story inspired by another participant's username. the username in question was WishingUnderThatStar.
> 
> more asoiafe

"Look," he bids her, "how the stars shine."

She is not impressed; the sky catches her glance every night, as it has for years. She was born beneath the desert moon and is well acquainted with its companions.

"Were that this moment could last a lifetime," he murmurs softly against her palm. He sighs, and she catches herself looking up, finding her personal wishing-star. It is an old habit from the days of her youth, and she quickly shuts her eyes in shame.

"Noire," he breathes.

She thinks of her betrothed sleeping soundly in his quarters and quietly hates herself.


	7. dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7.  
> She has to confront him about her engagement eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> directly related to previous drabble.

She shows him the stone on her finger with something close to apprehension. Her engagement to Ser Gerome had been announced at dinner. She hadn't dared to look at Owain for fear of what his expression might be. But she couldn't hide from him forever.

He takes her hand as if to inspect the ring. He doesn't quite stop himself from stroking her palm and grimaces.

"I can think of no better man to serve you," he says thickly, and drops it. 

She reaches back and laces her fingers through his.

They are silent for a very long time.


	8. white noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8.  
> Noire and Gerome are not in love; not the kind that leads to engagements and marriages, at any rate. But then again, fate has never been a sympathetic entity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see previous

She doesn't say anything for a while.

"Noire..." he prompts, but if he's honest with himself, he doesn't really want an answer. 

"Alright." She takes a breath and squares her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full height. She's almost as tall as he is. It's oddly reassuring. "Alright. We're to be married."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, and takes her hand. He recalls her exchanging smiles with a Kingsguard hopeful who had a fondness for grand speeches and promises of the moon.

She gives him a thin smile.

"It could be worse," she says. 

It could be better, he thinks.


	9. amaryllis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9.  
> Frederick is always very clear about his feelings for his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was still written with the greater context of asoiafe but does not necessarily have to be tied to it. at any rate: fred/cordelia

I love you, he says on their wedding day. She clutches his hand tightly, but does not say it back. 

He hadn't expected her to.

-

I love you, he breathes above the swell of her belly. She pats him half-heartedly, and remains silent.

He wishes she hadn't.

-

They sit, a few careful inches between them, and watch their daughter run in the yard. He does not say anything.

She wishes he would.


	10. off balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10.  
> Chrom's men have been graciously invited to the Feroxi circus. Chrom says it will boost morale. Frederick has his doubts. 
> 
> Rightly so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge: 1. must involve a circus  
> 2\. must be 527.5 words
> 
> the last of the asoiafe fics, i believe

The sweat on her skin glistens in the low light as she dances, and Frederick can't help but stare. 

He had been against the idea from the start. Lord Chrom had argued, insisted that the trip would boost morale. The men were tired, heartsick and weary. It would be a great distraction, he claimed, and almost entirely free. 

"But the circus, milord?" Frederick couldn't help but question. The doubt was clear in his tone. "Such venues are rife with pickpockets and thieves, and all sorts of other disreputable individuals. What of morale if we are robbed blind?"

"Ever wary," Chrom chided. He put a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "You worry too much. The circus is being held by the khan. Everyone on duty will be hand picked by Basilio himself and armed to the teeth. You know the Feroxi way."

Frederick had sighed, but Chrom was the commander, and that had been that. 

Even now, Frederick can hear Khan Basilio's raucous laughter across the tent. It is distant, though; he is much too entranced by the dancer to pay much attention. Something in the back of his head sounds warning alarms, but it too is muffled, and very far away. The dance commands him; every movement, every pause. The sound of golden baubles jingling against each other sears itself into his memory. 

It is over soon enough. He drifts back into the present with the sound of applause and appreciative shouts from the men around him. The dancer shrinks, a small shy smile on her lips, and blushes prettily. A far cry from the woman who just performed. 

Frederick remembers distractedly what the khan had said when introducing her -- "Olivia," he'd began, thumping her heartily on the back. "A dream in battle! Those dances of hers are a real pick-me-up, guaranteed to get your soldiers back into the fray with more energy than when they started. It's a gift."

He casts his eyes around, observing the newly found enthusiasm of the group, and believes it.

He does not like it.

\---

"Milo--"

"Frederick, for the last time." Chrom runs a hand through his hair, exasperation plain on his face. "We can't get rid of her."

Frederick looks away petulantly.

"Those were not my words," he says.

"It is what you said."

"I just don't think--"

"I've heard it, Frederick, I know! But Olivia agreed to come with us to help. To turn her away would be an unkindness, and quite possibly a slight upon our new allies."

Frederick bites his tongue. He cannot hold back a sigh, though, and the one that escapes is heavy.

"You rival your wife with your burdensome sighs," Chrom says, attempting to lighten the mood. It does not work.

Frederick winces and remains silent. 

"I'm sorry," Chrom tries again. "You must be missing her. This campaign is taking a toll on all of us."

"On that, at least, we can agree," Frederick concedes. 

"I still don't understand why you object so strongly to her joining our troupe."

"I just have a bad feeling, is all."

A memory flits by: swaying hips, fluttering silks, and the glint of gold and ivory.

A bad feeling indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know nothing, inigo snow


	11. subsequent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\.   
> Lissa and Owain, in the wake of Lon'qu's death.

She receives her husband's sword and robes in the morning.

It takes all her strength not to let her tears fall in front of her child; instead, she swallows it and takes his hand. 

"Let's put this away," she says with a weak smile, and he knows something is wrong but he does not ask. 

Later, she finds her son drowning in his father's clothes, dragging the scabbard across the floor in a poor attempt to lift it. When he notices her, he jumps, and it almost looks like he's going to cry.

But he doesn't.

So she doesn't, either.


	12. acrophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12.  
> Emmeryn had never been one for heights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge: historical fiction, include an event in history that happened on july 5. kind of cheated because fe:a is already quasi-medieval, and arbitrarily assigning the date to a significant event in the plot was easy enough.

Emmeryn was never one for heights.

The hot desert sun did nothing for her headache as she fought back nausea from vertigo. She'd grown better, with age, having had to address her people from balconies and platforms; listening to a child was difficult enough but for one to show fear and over such a small issue -- she learned quickly to swallow her fear and keep her voice steady, stilling the shaking of her hands when she gestured as she spoke. 

But those were nothing to the ledge on which she stood now. Not even, perhaps, the one time Chrom and Lissa had taken her to the top of the castle, intent on some game she couldn't remember. There had been guards, of course. There were always guards. But no one could protect her from the open air. The view had been spectacular but as soon as she angled her gaze downward she'd fallen, the transition smooth as liquid, and fainted.

(She'd begged illness, said she had been feeling poorly the whole day, but that did nothing to calm the worries of her siblings or her servants. She'd stayed in bed for the better part of the day and felt guilty about it for weeks afterwards.)

Sweat trickled down her forehead and she willed her knees steady.

Below her lay two armies, or what was left of them. Her brother the prince stood on the outside of the gate, hand poised above his sword, clothes drenched and body heaving. The battle had been a hard one and Emmeryn had been given a front row seat.

If the altitude hadn't made her sick, the sight of her family, her friends, her people laying down their lives for her would have. The clanging of metal, the screaming of horses, the groaning of the fallen -- the symphony of the dying had sounded very far away. She didn't know if that made it more bearable or not. 

But they had been victorious. That is, until the king who had kidnapped her in the first place summoned reinforcements. Now it was her life or theirs, and she knew in the grander scheme of things, her life meant very little.

She dropped her head briefly. 

"So be it."

Her inner robes stuck to her. The dust from the battle obscured the ground slightly, but she refused to think about it. Emmeryn stared straight ahead and leaned forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emmeryn, exalt of ylisse. date of death: july 5th. war declared on plegia the same day.


	13. to a god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13.  
> Robin and Validar discuss their roles in a darker timeline.

"Do you fancy yourself a king?"

The hierophant looked coolly towards the throne, the man seated upon it fixed in stony silence. His body was bound, dark magic swirling about him with a guttural growl, sharpened fangs ready to bite at any forbidden movement. 

He lifted his hand to touch the crown at his temples. 

This action was permissible.

"A servant," the man said evenly. "Temporary, transient - nothing more."

"Of course." The hierophant smiled, slightly. "You understand your role well."

They raised a hand, clenched their fist - the magic squeezed its prisoner into a swift death. The man's body slumped forward, falling from the seat gracelessly.

The hierophant stepped carefully over the corpse and sat down. The gilded arms of the throne were cool beneath their gloved hands.


	14. summer rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14\.   
> Rain is never a good omen on the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge: 1. depth of field; two actions happening at once, with focus shifting between them  
> 2\. titled after favorite song without quoting the lyrics  
> 3\. break the fourth wall  
> 4\. max length 256 words

As soon as they hear the groans of the undead, it begins to rain.

They are drenched within moments, the heavens split open and gushing like a fatal wound, making it impossible to see. The ground turns to slurry and the downpour drowns out every sound.

It's difficult for Brady to make out his name. He's the group's only healer; no good with a weapon, but quick enough with the staff. He can catch the clanging of metal, sometimes, when his companions are close. Snatches of war cries -- shouts of pain? -- if he's lucky. 

He's trying to decide if the sound that just cut through the storm is a signal or a spell when Lucina appears in front of him.

"Brady!" She has to shout. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah!" he returns. Her hair is plastered against her forehead and her clothes are stuck to her skin. Going by the weight of his own waterlogged robes, he can't imagine what swinging a sword in that must feel like.

He doesn't have much time to ponder. A lance emerges from her gut and she falls, a Risen standing over her.

An arrow streaks across the field and catches it in the neck. He wonders how it could've possibly hit its mark.

He stares at her body, watching the blood leak from her abdomen. It's almost washed clean. The sound of the rain pounds against his ears.

Brady wants to say something to mark her death. Lucina was his friend. His ally. His leader.

He doesn't have words enough.


	15. a therapeutic chain of events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15.  
> Morgan is hurting, and it makes Frederick think he's a bad father.

The bruise on his forehead colors to an ugly purple and Frederick's heart clenches every time he sees it. 

Morgan smiles brightly; it's not so bad, and anyway, his hair covers most of it up, so it's no big deal! Don't worry, father. It's fine.

It's not fine. Frederick is not used to having a son but seeing the boy inspires something in him. He's got Robin's nose, his chin. His eyes are his mother's, dark and filled with mischief, but there is something of himself in the way he stands and it makes his breath catch, sometimes, when he forgets. 

He catches sight of the mark as Morgan absently brushes his bangs to the side. 

He'd been trying to jog memories of _him_ , Frederick thinks with a grimace. While he hasn't been familiar with the idea of amnesia for long, even he knows this isn't the way to go about things. Morgan is a smart boy but whatever folly drove him to give himself a concussion was beyond Frederick's understanding. What was he thinking?

Nothing, perhaps. A desperate, fearful nothing hidden behind laughing eyes and bright smiles. The tears that come later, unbidden and honest, confirm this. 

The bruise fades, eventually. Morgan does not attempt to repeat the experience. Even after weeks, Frederick catches himself, eyes lingering on the skin above his brow, but if Morgan notices, he does not say.

Years pass, the war is won, and Morgan leaves to forge his own path, promising to write and visit often. His presence is missed sorely, but neither Robin nor Frederick try to stop him. A few months later, Robin announces she is with child.

Morgan sends his enthusiastic congratulations but informs them he will not be able to make it for the birth. Good luck and love, he signs at the bottom, and that is that. Robin keeps the letter, but not before Frederick has memorized every word. 

When Robin gives birth, Frederick is there to squeeze her hand. The midwives declare it a success as frantic squealing fills the room. The baby is swaddled and placed on top of its mother. It tires itself out quickly and is soon fast asleep.

Take him, Robin says quietly, her eyes still trained on the child; she is sweaty, tired, but smiling, her affection evident in her voice. Gently, he lifts the baby. Robin sighs. 

Frederick cradles his newborn son and kisses him softly on the forehead.


	16. reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16.  
> Lucina had hoped she'd one day see her mother again, but not like this. Gods, not like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge: 1. 3 different stories, each 69 words long, that are linked in some way  
> 2\. must prominently feature a multi-headed entity, but it's up to you what that means  
> 3\. either your narrator(s) or main character(s) must progressively become more mentally disturbed  
> 4\. must prominently feature summertime  
> 5\. must have a word that begins with f in every sentence

She wipes the sweat from her brow and stares at her brother. The cicadas drown out the silence of the summer night, reminding her how far apart they've grown since that autumn. 

He flicks his hood over his head and turns around.

"Morgan, wait!" she cries frantically. He does not turn to face her. He's not her brother anymore, frankly.

He's gone in a flash of purple and black. 

-

Lucina stares at the girl's face blankly. Her features are similar to those of her brother's, but she didn't have a sister, did she? Even her cloak is familiar; it has the same patterns as the ones her mother and brother kept.

The girl's fingers curl around her axe. A feral grin tugs at her lips.

"Looking for someone?" she sneers. 

"I'm sorry," Lucina says, feeling faint, and runs.

-

Her mother descends the steps fluidly, like she's made of smoke. Her image flickers and Lucina blinks hard. 

Lucina hasn't seen her for nearly a year. She spots her brother in the shadows, his female doppelganger beside him. 

Her mother smiles, revealing teeth filed to a point. Fireflies blink in and out on the edges of her vision.

A tear falls from her cheek, hits the ground, and sizzles.


End file.
